


An Unseen Hand

by iloveyoudie



Series: Delicious Burdens [3]
Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: Developing Relationship, Domestic Boyfriends, Episode Related, Episode Remix, Feels, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Modern Era, Modern Retelling, Set during & after 'Neverland'
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:07:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27803542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iloveyoudie/pseuds/iloveyoudie
Summary: “What if I wasn’t a policeman anymore?”Max paused, his brow furrowed in genuine concern, and he slowly closed his laptop.** fic 2.5 of Delicious Burdens **
Relationships: Max DeBryn/Endeavour Morse
Series: Delicious Burdens [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1161971
Comments: 16
Kudos: 25





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally intended to be flashbacks during my S3 fic in this series, I think the story has gone a different way, and so I've decided instead to outline the events of Neverland (in this universe) through these short scenes.

Morse awoke slowly, reached for his phone to check the time, and then rolled over towards the center of the bed. He only cracked his eyes for a split second to see where Max was and found the other man propped low on his pillow with the sheet bunched around his bare waist, and his glasses perched on the tip of his nose as he scrolled through his phone. Sleepy and warm, instead of saying anything, Morse moved in against Max’s side, wrapped an arm around his waist and cast a leg over him. If Max reacted, Morse couldn’t see because he was insinuating himself as close as possible until Max lifted an arm and he was able to pillow his head against the man’s chest and close his eyes again.

Moments could have been hours but Morse was supposed to be trying to wake up so when a yawn shivered through him and was echoed by Max moments after, he finally cracked his eyes again and looked at Max’s phone, “What’re you looking at?”

“Instagram..” Max murmured.

“That’s the um… pictures?” Morse tilted his head to see but all he saw was a pair of very fancy looking shoes. He readjusted his face to fully express his disappointment, “You’re just looking at shoes again.”

“Yes, the - _UM_ _pictures_. Master orator of your generation, hm?” Max shot him an amused look, “And those are not just shoes. They are spiral cut, hand welted, custom tanned, bespoke wingtips.”

“I only know what half of that means,” Morse snorted.

“It means they cost more than most people’s weekly wages...”

Morse closed his eyes again, “Not sure why you’d bother looking at something you can’t afford.”

“Well they certainly aren’t a 1963 Jaguar Mk II in cherry red...” Max said coyly.

Morse’s eyes opened wider and he pinched Max’s naked side under the sheet which had him huffing out a laugh and squirming. The assault ended with Morse’s hands caught in Max’s and the doctor leaning over to pin him down for a lazy string of slow kisses with whispered pleasantries and laughter peppered between. When they settled back again, Max continued his scrolling and Morse once more lay against him to watch the photos go by.

Shoes. Men’s clothing. Scenic shots of far off locations. Some sort of fishing gear brand. Max’s niece. People from the hospital he vaguely recognized. There was Monica in one, a selfie of her newest hair style. Of course there was a picture of someone’s lunch. A cathedral ceiling - _oh that was nice_. An old skull with a lot of writing underneath from a medical museum. And-

“Is that Joyce?”

“Yes,” Max tilted the phone so Morse could see better. He clicked on her name and it brought up her account. The tiled thumbnails were mostly selfies and shots of friends he didn’t know. Max tapped over the part of her profile that said ‘Followed by **around.eve** ’, “You follow her, Morse.”

“I don’t have an account,” Morse sat up a bit more, propping his chin on Max’s chest for a better view.

“You do-” Max clicked one of the photos, one of the shots from her visit, and there he was in profile in the pub with a tag over his face that was labelled once more as ‘around.eve’. Max clicked that next and they were brought to a profile that just said ‘Morse’ in the description with a union jack flag, a music note, and a beer glass. It had 0 photos but clicking further revealed that he was tagged in quite a few other pictures. Most of them were from Joyce but occasionally there was one from Jim or Jakes while they were at work or the pub.

“Everyone watches the account. Myself. Monica. Strange. Jakes. Jerome even found you. Quite a few people, actually. I’m not sure who some of them are. I just assumed you made one once and forgot it.”

“Or I have a meddlesome sister who likes to do things to my phone when she visits. Who is this one single person I follow?”

“Joyce.”

Morse hissed, “Fucking Joyce. How do I close it?”

“Settings I think. Delete? On your own phone, of course,” Max blinked over his glasses at him.

That sounded like work he didn’t want to do. So he didn’t. Morse just flopped his head back down and rubbed an itchy nose into Max’s skin. When he finished, he looked up and swatted Max’s phone away.

“What’s the matter,” Max chuckled, “am I not paying enough to attention to you?”

Morse grumbled something into Max’s chest and then bit him right on the Vitruvian Man tattoo.

Max yelped, abandoned his phone, and remedied the attention problem.

* * *

When they had finally gotten out of bed, Morse discovered he was out of both tea and coffee. He much preferred Max’s house, it was much better supplied and infinitely more comfortable, but he felt like a leech being over there all the time, and so he made a concerted effort to bring Max round to his for at least a third of their nights together. If Max minded, he never said anything beside the usual jibes about Morse’s tidiness. While he showered Morse had gone out for breakfast and returned to the flat just in time to catch Max emerging from the bathroom slightly damp and wearing only a towel.

“I ought to start charging for the show..” Max squinted without his glasses but could see well enough to know that Morse had set himself up with a good view of the bathroom door, had a spread of food in front of him, and was watching him dry himself like he was on display.

“Shouldn’t you be studying for your sergeants or doing a crossword or something?”

“Daedalus was easy on me today,” Morse flicked the folded up paper with a disappointed glance, “And study sessions with Strange have gone alright. I think I’m probably ready-” Morse was not as confident as he sounded. As he said the words he could think of at least a dozen weak points that he really needed to work on but the exam was a couple of weeks out and he was always a bit of a last minute crammer anyways. It was a cruel trick to put the exam right before the holidays, but the results were supposed to be returned to them before Christmas, presumably so those who passed could then celebrate. Either way, he had no regrets about ogling Max while he was providing such quality eye candy.

“Do you work on Christmas?” Morse asked since it had come to mind. They hadn’t quite dealt with any of the obvious issues that arose around holidays. Were they buying one another gifts? Was Max even the gift exchanging type? Were they going to make time to see eachother with family events and such?

“I’m on call,” Max was into his jeans now and buttoning up a blue check top which was followed by a cable knit jumper that was tugged over his head and made his damp hair stick out in all directions. He pushed his hands through it, “Are you?”

“Yes,” Morse offered Max his own coffee cup when he approached, still barefoot.

“I usually have my family over to the house. They stay for a couple of days,” Max took the cup, took a sip, and then walked himself to the futon and sat down to turn on the television, “I cook dinner on Christmas Eve, my sister-in-law does brunch on Christmas morning. There’re gifts, sometimes we go to a concert- Oxford willing of course.”

It was another one of those topics that Morse had no frame of reference for. Anything a normal family did never applied to his own. Last Christmas his father had done them all the courtesy of dying just in time to make everything with his step mother more awkward than ever. He’d stayed for the holiday at Joyce’s request, had an awkward dinner and they’d watched the Queen’s speech and some TV specials. When Joyce and Gwen went to church, Morse had gone to the pub, and the only gift exchange was between he and Joyce privately. When he’d returned to work after his injury and everything else, he’d found a small envelope tucked in with his desk contents with some finely aged gift cards from people around the office and it felt strange to acknowledge them several months later. He’d make up for that this year.

“You’re welcome to join us,” Max made the offer easily and Morse wondered immediately if that was a good or bad thing. He was trying to accept that Max was as enamoured with him as he was, was trying to learn that not everyone rushed head long into every relationship, was trying desperately to convince himself that he was looking too hard at things he didn’t need to… but meeting Max’s family seemed like it would be a rather big deal. Yet Max seemed so easy about inviting him and thus, Morse could only be confused by the intention behind it.

“And I’ll be there as...?” Morse felt foolish as soon as he’d said it. Suspicious. Unsure. He hated ever sounding less than confident around Max.

Max sighed, “As yourself.”

Max stood then, crossed the room to Morse again, and rested a hand on his shoulder as if he were going to share some unfortunate news with him. Morse steeled himself for some sort of speech about where their relationship stood or admonishment for questioning things, but instead Max’s usual dry sarcasm was soft and his hand drifted to the side of Morse’s neck and his fingertips tugged his earlobe in a gentle tease, “It will be a bit of a full house though. So for the sake of space, you and I _may_ have to share a bed.”

Morse hated him for making him worry. Hated him so much that he had to fight back a grin, “Of course. What a hardship.”

“Absolutely,” Max leaned in and kissed him.


	2. Chapter 2

Morse found Max in the back yard when he arrived at his home after work. Once the planting of the garden had begun with the first pair of rose bushes, his doctor had embraced the initiative and now had a wrought iron patio set and had plotted out his first clearly defined flower beds. It turned out trees were best planted in spring so they had time to settle before winter but Morse had caught Max reading up on different species several times over his shoulder.

Tonight he was merely sitting out with a steaming mug of something and a thick collared cardigan as he enjoyed the cool early winter air. He was a soothing sight after a horrible week at the station.

Three bodies in four days was never easy for anyone but Morse would always take it harder. He had spent the last few nights obsessing over the evidence and pouring over files and his daylight hours were occupied with rubbing everyone he met the wrong way. Mr. Bright, he was sure by now, solidly hated him and Thursday’s talk of ‘progress’ and retirement had him thinking. Morse found needed Max’s company more than ever to ground him and play the sympathetic ear should he go off on one of his unplanned rants.

“Cocoa?” Max offered when he finally noticed Morse haunting the doorway and blocking out the light. Morse noticed he was wearing a new pair of loafers he’d gotten himself recently for lounging around the house and he looked smart as always, even in what the doctor considered to be lazy clothes. He’d also gotten Morse a new scarf and gloves when a particularly biting early frosty day revealed that his own were threadbare. Apparently they’d gotten to the stage of the relationship where small gifts were more natural and organic than either of them expected, yet still it had made Morse’s insides tumble over themselves when he’d received them. He’d gotten compliments enough on them to be notable.

“No cocoa for me, thanks,” Morse sighed, “I need a real drink.”

Max nodded as Morse ducked back into the house and returned a minute later sans his coat and scarf and clutching a glass of whiskey. He settled into the opposite chair with a loud exhale and stretched his legs. He stretched far enough to nudge Max’s feet with his own and then shifted so their ankles rested against one another under the table.

After a long silence filled only with the sound of Max’s typing and the outdoor chorus of yard and distant city sounds, Morse found Max watching him as he’d stared off into the empty dark garden. He’d been thinking of everything and nothing at the same time as was usual, but even while Max’s relative unflappability was often frustrating, in these times he found it reassuring. He was peaceful and Morse liked to think that enough time in his company may rub some of that peace off on himself.

Max looked up, found himself being watched finally, and smiled small, “Alright?”

Morse’s knee jerk reaction was to nod, to tell him yes, but nothing was alright was it? Everything outside of this house seemed to be shifting bit by bit out of his control. It wasn’t like the beginning of the year when he’d been still shivering on the edge of a constant PTSD attack and desperate for any bit of success to prove he was okay. This was his present stability being threatened instead. He’d finally settled in, begun to find his place in the order, and now there was talk of change.

He didn’t like it.

“What if I wasn’t a policeman anymore?”

Max paused, his brow furrowed in genuine concern, and he slowly closed his laptop.

Morse sighed, sipped his whiskey, and brushed his foot against Max’s in what he hoped was a soothing motion. He didn’t want the other too concerned for him, he wasn’t quite in that bad of a place, but he’d spoken about this before. It had been a long time, but he had.

“Thursday’s talking about retirement. Bright is- well, besides that he hates me, he’s talking about streamlining. That reorganization is coming. Departments and stations up on the chopping block,” Morse shrugged, “Thursday says he’ll see me well off with some other decent DI but I don’t trust them. Any of them. I think there might be evidence going missing-”

Morse ran a hand through his hair. He didn’t want to say too much. They didn’t usually mix work and home too much if they could help it. Everyone knew that corruption was everywhere but Morse had never before doubted the people directly around him.

“It’s not very reassuring for a policeman to say he doesn’t trust the police,” Max picked up his own mug, sipped it, and frowned that he’d neglected it and it had gone a bit lukewarm, “What would you do instead?”

“Back to university maybe?” He thought he could do that now. The memories of his last stint were distant. Like dreams. IHe was more mature now. More sure of what he could do, “Maybe teaching. Or- I don’t know. Anything that’s not this.”

Max didn’t seem reassured, only worried, “Be careful, Morse.”

Morse smiled rather pathetically, “After Christmas, why don’t we take a holiday? Go to the continent maybe. Take a scenic train ride. France or Italy or Amsterdam? I’ve always wanted to see the Rijksmuseum.”

“We?” Max almost laughed a little.

“Why not?” Morse blinked, “People do. Couples.”

“That’s..” Max tilted his head, “Something to think about. I’ll look into taking time off. I’ve got a fishing trip booked ahead for the summer but- Yes, I think we could.”

* * *

In bed that night, just before the light went out, Morse rolled towards Max and in silence, they watched one another. Under the covers they fit together, arms around waists and fingers running over skin, but in the lamplight they just looked at each other’s faces with soft pensive expressions. Morse was sure that Max used to his own brand of introspection by now, the way he got when the cases got tough or things at work went sideways, but this case had done so more swiftly than usual and everything else just seemed to pile up on top of it.

“Are you happy?” Morse finally asked. It was out of nowhere, unprompted, but he realised he didn’t know and found that needed to as he felt like his future hung in the balance.

Max laughed softly, “Are you?”

“That’s-” He wasn’t sure what he expected. Laughing wasn’t it and whether Max realised or not, it made him feel foolish, “-I asked you first.”

“Very mature,” Max tickled his hands up Morse’s ribs and Morse caught them and flattened them against his sides before he pressed further forward into the other man’s arms. Max embraced him, circling his waist fully and squeezed. He kissed a shoulder and then rested his head against it, “I promise you, I’m not being difficult. I was just making a point that a question of happiness is a complicated one.”

Morse got the point, he really did, but sometimes he just wanted Max to indulge him. To say yes, I’m happy, life is wonderful because we are here together. He knew it wasn’t wholly true, and usually the truth was of the utmost importance, but he was a selfish thing and would be satisfied enough in most moments to be placated like a child.

It did bear some thinking about though, when the question was turned about as it had been. Was Morse happy? Not in his job at the moment. Day by day there was some new concern, some new shadow over the department, a new obstacle in whatever the case was on. Each and every hiccup rolled into a larger drama that threatened to spill over into everything else in his life.

But he _was_ enamoured with Max, very nearly head over heels, yet Max still padded himself in armor even if day by day the pieces of it peeled away. It was as if he kept a carefully constructed safety bar for fear of them both tumbling over some unforeseen precipice. Love was supposed to be the greatest adventure, that was what he’d always thought, but Max treated it as if it were a plunge towards doom. He’d never said it, but that’s what it felt like. Morse wasn’t sure if their slow pace was deliberate or happenstance but he was beginning to think that he wanted more. For someone used to rushing headlong into everything, restraint and pace were more frustrating than he could possibly describe.

“I’m _satisfied_ ,” Max finally said, pressing his lips to Morse’s jaw, “And pleased with my life and what I have. And with what we're doing.”

“But?” Morse knew there was always a but. 

“But life is complicated and the world outside is unpredictable. You and I both spend our days dealing with that first hand. It’s not always easy and real happiness sometimes seems like something everyone is working towards but never finds.”

Morse closed his eyes and hummed his agreement. It was clear that if Max was satisfied, Morse couldn't fully mirror the sentiment, but he couldn't be sure of anything these days. His job. His future. Where his trust lay in those around him. He'd rather leave his love life in the realm of middling pleasure, something they could work on later when the rest had calmed down, than to start to question it all more deeply. 

And so he didn’t say anymore about it.


End file.
